


Thanks to Cersei

by ChocoNut



Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [34]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: After 4x2, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Smut, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:14:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25748740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: Jaime pays Brienne a visit one night to tell her about his conversation with Cersei.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [34]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1483640
Comments: 16
Kudos: 87





	Thanks to Cersei

**Author's Note:**

> Set after 4x2, the "But you love him," accusation extends to Jaime as well.  
> Thank you for reading and enjoy!

“I haven’t seen you around for a while, wench.”

Jaime fixed her with an intense gaze, his eyes, hazy, as if he’d gulped down more than a single helping of wine, the faint whiff off his breath, when he sauntered in, seconding her surmise.

“I’ve been busy.” She was not—far from that, but telling him she’d been avoiding him after Cersei had called out her feelings at the wedding was not an option.

“With what?” His lips twisted in a smile. “Now that Sansa isn’t here anymore—”

“Why have you come here?” If it was to end her day with taunts and or some other petty ridicule, Brienne was not interested. “You seem to have pushed in a drink or two more than you can manage—”

“You want to know why?” He took a step forward, crowding her, and she found herself struggling for air. “I couldn’t sleep, wench. Not after what happened sometime back in my bedchambers.”

“Ser Jaime, I—”

“Cersei was there and—” he flicked his tongue across his lip “—she— uh—tried to seduce me and—” 

“I don’t want to know,” she brushed it aside, unwilling to take a stab wound to her heart. If he had come here to gloat about how passionately he’d bedded his lover, she wasn’t up to it. “It is not my place to hear of it—”

“Oh, it is.” His eyes slipped down to her lips. “I turned her down, Brienne. And we had a huge quarrel after that. At the end of it, do you know what she accused me of?” 

She shifted slightly, gripping the edge of the table behind her, his overgrown stubble, his breathing down her neck like this, terribly arousing.

“My sister claims that I love you.”

Brienne blinked, then managed a laugh. “She’s mistaken, obviously. She thinks so because—”

“—I happened to moan your name when she began kissing me.” He reached around her side to grasp the table, his arm grazing hers, his fingertips brushing her knuckles. 

“One can err like this when drunk.” She was appalled at how breathy she sounded, her fingers hurting when she tightened her hold on the wood. “I'm sure it's something she’ll understand when you have a sober conversation later—” 

“I’m not so drunk that I cannot hear the cries of my heart,” he whispered, his palm enclosing her hand. “And I should have stopped her before her lips touched mine.” He brought his stump-arm around her to rest his golden hand on the table. “I should never have let her get close to me, Brienne.” 

She was trapped—both, in his eyes and by his body. “What do you mean?” she squeaked, her lips parting of their own accord when she spied his.

Jaime leaned closer. “It means I want to kiss _you_ , wench,” he whispered against her earlobe, his voice, working its magic down her neck, sending a pulse of pleasure down to her groin. “I want to—” 

The rest of it was a breath of warm air across her cheek and a heavy needy sigh. His hand settling on her waist, he trailed his mouth to hers, kissing her so softly it was barely a kiss. She made a desperate noise, the tender brush of those lips over hers, leaving her dizzy—she had to grab his arms to hold herself in place. 

“What else do you want?” she blurted, a dull rhythm beating between her legs when she recalled his filthy words when she’d just been assigned as his captor.

“Oh, Brienne.” His voice was a gush of warmth that tickled her lower back before flooding up her spine and exploding at the roots of her hair. “Do I need to tell you—”

Her fingers curled tightly around his arm. “Show me.” 

Those lips brushed hers again, his tongue slipping into her mouth as he shuffled closer. His mouth drifted down, hot and wet, a blazing line along her throat before retracing the seductive path back to her lips. She dragged her palm along his chest, a moan for every thrust of his tongue, a sigh, every time he sucked on her lip, her nipples, peaking to pointed tips, her arms breaking out into goosebumps. He kissed her harder for every little noise she made, his body pressing into her, her heart kicking in her chest when she felt the distinct length of his hard erection against her hips. The wine on his lips screamed out a warning that this might last only as long as the heat of this moment, but her body refused to obey, her heart telling her that Cersei was probably right again. 

He pulled away, questions in his eyes.

And she nodded, telling him what he needed to know, that tonight, she wanted to listen to her heart. 

He started to take her shirt off, and the look on his face—the lust and so much more lying naked in those striking green eyes—blazed all through her, shooting straight down to her cunt. She took to his laces to return the favour, a shameless urge to caress his delicious chest blinding her, but it was easier said than done when he slid his hand across her breasts to cup one of them, and she fumbled, sighing, the pleasurable little tugs he inflicted her with, too much to bear. With shaking fingers, she attacked his clothes again when he pressed his lips against her neck, his seductive, “Keep going, my lady,” egging her on.

Beads of sweat, his chest was covered with, when she’d done away with his shirt, and she bent, her mouth closing around one, sucking, the sensation of his chest heaving, his muscles tensing under her touch, agonizing, yet, rewarding. She kissed across his tempting streak of hair, and he arched his hips into her, moaning, dragging her face up to meet his.

He grabbed her breasts again, squeezing gently, one, then its companion, pinching her nipples hard. And she struggled to stay on her feet. No one had ever touched her like that, shown her body such interest or kissed her with such burning passion. He dipped his head down to suck one into his mouth, drawing on it hard enough for the sensation to travel from her nipple to her cunt. She sighed, gripping his upper arms and holding on as he moved his seeking wet mouth to the other nipple. Only now did she know the sensation of someone’s skin on hers, and unable to hold back, she dragged her fingers down his back, little streams of sweat crossing her path. Every press of her fingers to bare skin evoked a noise that was deep and wild, ridden with a need, desperate, an apt reflection of the heat rising in her body, an echo of the nagging throb between her legs, the need to taste him again. If his cock had a voice, this was what it would sound like.

He returned to her lips, and she devoured him, gluttonous, ravenous. Underneath the wine, he tasted like a man, like every woman’s dream. His tongue slipped between her lips again, and she clung to it, hard, like if she let go, he’d disappear. Deep down, something within her called out to him when his arms tightened around her, sucking the air from her lungs, his cock, when he began grinding against her hips, so hard that— 

She could feel her pulse thudding away in a mad rage when her wrist grazed the enticing swell of his bulge, and she gripped his laces, urgent, frantic, stopping only after she’d pushed down his pants and rid him of his agony. His hand crept around, squeezing her arse, pressing her into his erection, his gasps floating down her throat, her whimpers, smothered by his tongue. She was aching. She was a mess. And she was bloody clumsy—to touch every inch of his skin or undo her breeches, her biggest conundrum. 

His hand came around again, fumbling, loosening her bindings, snaking within. When he found _her_ , he let out another feral noise—one that made her insides tremble. He parted her with a finger and then slid it inside her. She was soaking. Wet enough that she could sense her arousal around his probing digit. Wet enough for him to turn her around and shove her on the bed.

Startled, she let out a strangled cry. Jaime dropped to his knees and pulled down what remained of her smallclothes, leaving her twitching and jerking until he growled, “Stay still, woman!”

He began kissing her down there, lips and tongue and all, the edges of his soft lips grazing the sensitivity of her inner thigh a sweet contrast to his red hot stubble rubbing against her tender skin. Up, he went, ruthlessly advancing until his hot breath invaded her, his tongue working, delving into her folds, to and fro, in and out. 

He was a storm, oncoming, ready to sweep her off her feet, seething, raging, furious, slaying her with his tongue and his expert fingers. 

He set a rhythm, thrusting and sucking, only to break it seconds later, building up the pressure, stoking the fire within her, letting the flames rise high—until she clutched his arms and tossed her head back, the shudder with which she exploded telling her that this was just the beginning.

That no one else could do this to her—freeing the desires inside by trapping her within him.

She lay still, reeling under the impact of what he had done to her. 

She looked down into the tenderness in his eyes, that one look telling her Cersei was right.

He fell into bed beside her, gathering her in his arms and kissing her, pulling her so close so that their bodies were melded as one, the throbbing tip of his rock-hard shaft kissing the threshold of her entrance.

“Brienne—”

“I want it too,” she whispered, unfastening his golden hand and ridding him of it.

Before she realized he was doing it, he slid on to her, and spreading her legs gently he dragged his cockhead up and down her slit. She wriggled with anticipation, kissing him harder, urging him to go on, and he finally slid into her, his soft eyes telling her he was there for her, that he would take this as slow as she wanted to.

The next thrust came with more pressure than the first. “I won't hurt you, Brienne,” came the softest whisper to ever caress her ears, as if it wasn’t composed of words, but a delicate string of the gentlest brushes of his lips on her skin. “I love you.” With this sweet proclamation, he went down on her, breaking in this time, ripping apart what had been clinging to her name for years. 

And a maid, no more she was.

Thus began a song she’d never sung before, a tune she’d never heard before, every inch of her—flesh and consciousness—coming alive to the melody. He was devouring her. Not just with his mouth or his cock, but with every bit of him, his body, every single breath he wrapped her with, words—spoken and unspoken. Every thrust, every strained muscle, every bead of sweat glistening on his flawless skin screamed just one thing—this was forever.

He grunted, and the wild sound of it trickled all through her, down to the very edges of her limbs.

She whimpered, squeezing him in an embrace so tight that he gasped.

He plunged down her hips, thrusting and grinding, sweat-sodden skin slapping and rubbing into hers.

Her toes curling, her teeth scraping his skin, his hand claiming her breast and the sound of his harsh breath in her—that was all she felt. That was all there was.

He trapped her, he broke down all her defenses, tearing down every wall and reaching out where no man ever had. His hunger, his thirst—she was eager to quench with soft kisses and gentle sighs, with her body that began to dance to the tunes he was playing. Flaming lust and tender affection—he was both, he was like that glorious instant where the sky met this world.

A shuddering spasm and she was his.

A rasping growl and he was hers. 

The scent of sex, they were both bathed in, when they held each other, limbs in a tangle, bodies pressed together. “Your sister happened to fling the same accusation at me long back,” she mused, recalling Joffrey’s wedding and how she’d been awakened to her feelings.

“What did you tell her?” he whispered into her hair.

She raised her head to look at him. “I was too stunned to bring myself to face it.”

Green eyes shining with anticipation met hers. “And now?”

“She knew my heart better than I, myself, did. Right as hell, she is, when it comes to us, isn’t she?” She wriggled up his chest to level her face with his. “I love you, Jaime.”

Jaime tilted his face to capture her lips. “Never thought we’d have Cersei to thank for our union.”


End file.
